A Beautiful Dance
by Paisley Skies
Summary: Marluxia/Zexion. After the worlds fall to Darkness, certain beings cannot feel emotion. Zexion, longing to be loved, withdraws into his mind and creates a schizophrenic-like illusion. Can the boundary between reality and fantasy be drawn?
1. Prologue

**A/N: **I am still going to continue with "Life in Three Colors," so don't worry. This is just the prologue for yet another story that I am doing. Actually... it's one that I wrote a year or so ago. I'm just making it better. ^.~

It's Marluxia/Zexion, which is not a crack pairing, imo. However, there shall be none of it in this prologue; this consists of what happened before everyone fell to Darkness and what not. Also, this story is going to be... odd. It might be a bit hard to follow at times, but that's okay. I shall try to explain things if it gets too weird. ^.^

**Obligatory Warning(s): graphic descrip. of strychnine poisoning. (might not be for the faint of any internal organ, including but not limited to the heart and stomach.) character death (two murders, one suicide). uhm... I think that is all. ^.~ oh! it's really, really long.**

x-posted to my now-dead dA (deviantArt) account, which I really should delete. ^.^;; (but if you've all ready read this and you're thinking, "oh God, it's THAT story - the one she ended way too abruptly!" don't just go off of that. I'm going to try to make this better, demmit! So please - stick with it, 'k? ^.^ )

enjoy!!! and, if you feel so inclined, please leave a review!! XDD

**

* * *

**

Ansem the Wise was, indeed, a great philosopher. Many in Radiant Garden were strongly of the opinion that he was, in fact, the greatest master of philosophy that their world had ever known and, perhaps, ever would know. This man's mind clearly extended beyond the realm of brilliance; there was hardly ever a problem that he could not solve or a question the answer to which he could not find. There were thousands in Radiant Garden who admired the philosopher, and there were even some who went so far as to envy him.

He had not only a brilliant mind regarding the metaphysical, but also the physical. He was a scientist who, along with his six assistants, worked relentlessly. They worked all day and long hours into the night searching for some "miracle chemical" to prevent the sinister powers of Darkness from extending its regime to the allegedly peaceful world of Radiant Garden. After all, there were many worlds out there, many of which had already fallen under the influence of the Dark regime; Ansem would not allow that to happen to their world. Always, no matter how bad things got, there _always_ had to be at least one speck of positivity within the heavy, seemingly overpowering pessimism which surrounded them all. So long as that speck of optimism stood, everything in their power must be done to preserve it; for, after all, if it were to fall, then nothing would remain but a void – a vacuum – a black hole of nothingness.

There were a total of six great minds working under Ansem's brilliance; they were Aeleus, Braig, Even, Ienzo, Dilan, and Xehanort. All were relatively young – Xehanort being the eldest at twenty years-of-age and Ienzo being the youngest at merely sixteen – yet they were of above average intelligence, regardless of their ages. They, along with their Superior, knew not the meaning of the term "sleep." They were always working – always searching for that answer to the one question that even Ansem himself had yet to find the answer; how to annihilate the Darkness's reign of terror.

However hard they worked though, Ansem nearly always came up with an insurmountably better way to solve an issue than any of the apprentices put together. This would, undoubtedly, lead a person to ask himself why, then, Ansem bothered to have anybody help him if he was so clever. The answer, though actually quite simple, seems rather complex. He merely cannot do all the work himself. It may seem as though he can, but no matter how brilliant a person is – no matter how illustrious their mind is – he must have help in dealing with such complex, intricate, life-or-death situations. Simply stated, nobody can go at it alone.

The majority of the time, five out of six of the young apprentices were only annoyed to a small degree that their Superior nearly always out-thought them; five out of six of them would merely complain and vent amongst themselves, although they knew within the depths of them that Ansem was probably actually _supposed_ to out-think them; after all, he was their Superior; it was in his job description. With this in mind, they more often than not simply muttered curses underneath their breath before returning to their books, notes, and experiments.

However, while quietly venting behind the boss's back was satisfying enough for the majority, it did nothing for Xehanort. He could vent all day until his face turned blue as the precipitate in Braig's test tube, but it was never enough to exhaust the frustration that was flaming within him. Within him, he had such a desire as was incomprehensible to anybody except himself; this desire was slowly turning into an obsession. However, it wasn't just any obsession; Xehanort's anger that he wasn't as brilliant as Ansem had started taking hold of him like a strong vice, and it was slowly beginning to consume him. He had decided that he had better do something very soon to save himself from falling off the edge of Sanity's cliff and landing in the gushing, tormenting waters of Madness.

He would, he decided, devise a plan – an intricate, fool-proof plan – to actually _become_ Ansem. And, if anybody happened to get in his way, or learn about his plan, he would simply have to murder the hindrance. After all, anything goes when you're an immoralist.

*****

Ienzo was a thoughtful young boy, and though he was an assistant in Ansem's lab, he was more of a philosopher than a scientist. He often found himself asking questions for which there were no factual answers; the answers to such questions could only be found by looking at things from different perspectives. Ienzo favored this over science, for in science, everything is black and white; there is always a definite answer. In philosophy, your mind can wander beyond the surface of what is fact and merely hypothesis; you can delve into the deeper meanings of Life and Death and everything in between. And, he found, you needn't fear Death, for in a philosopher's view, it is only an extension of Life. At least, that is one way of looking at it.

One evening, Ienzo was working in a corner of the lab. He was supposed to be performing a chloroform test on a potentially threatening plant that Even had found whilst walking about outside of the lab, but he had somehow gotten lost within his mind. He was holding the small vile of chloroform in one hand and a pair of forceps in his other hand (the plant leaf was concealed within the forceps' tight grasp), but it could easily be seen that his mind was elsewhere.

"Ienzo," a soft voice murmured behind him. When a pair of arms encircled themselves around Ienzo's small waist, he immediately came back to reality and jumped a bit, nearly dropping and breaking the glass chloroform vile.  
"Aeleus!" Ienzo gasped his heart racing. "Don't _do_ that! You nearly made me drop this." He blinked several times before remembering that he was supposed to be conducting an experiment on that plant.  
"Ah, yes, wouldn't wanna drop the chloroform, would you?" Aeleus asked with a smile as he bent down to kiss his younger lover's neck.  
"Stop it," Ienzo said, rather weakly. "I am trying to chloroform this leaf, and..."  
"Well? I'm not stopping you," Aeleus replied, tightening his arms round Ienzo.  
"Y-yes... yes, you a-are," the boy stuttered. "You are... p-preventing me fr-from... testing this."  
"Am I, now?" Aeleus inquired, sounding rather intrigued. He raised an eyebrow, although Ienzo couldn't see it (Aeleus was behind him, after all). "Well, I can see that I've reduced you to the level of stuttering."  
"Shut it," Ienzo snapped, albeit ineffectively.

It so happened that he ended up continuing the chloroform-plant experiment whilst being held close in Aeleus' arms. Of course, the experiment lasted a bit longer than it should have lasted, seeing as Aeleus broke Ienzo's attention every so often to passionately kiss him, but the experiment did get completed.

*****

The next day, Braig was scrutinizing the results of Ienzo's chloroformed plant experiment, and Dilan was writing up a report over it. Ienzo was with them just to make sure that Dilan got every bit of information correct. Xehanort, who was working close by, was allegedly coming up with some kind of formula which would counteract with the chemicals in a Heartless' body, therefore resulting in its death. However, what he was _actually_ doing was coming up with his plan to overthrow Ansem. Although Braig and Dilan could not exactly hear every word that Xehanort was muttering to himself, Ienzo had seemingly inhuman hearing abilities, and he could hear perfectly.

"Hey, guys?" Ienzo questioned, his eyebrows creasing together in a suspicious manner.

"Eh?" Braig asked only half paying attention because most of his mind was concentrating on the mysterious activity of the bacteria on the plant leaf.

"Hmm?" Dilan asked in the same tone of voice, trying to pay attention to Ienzo _and_ write down what Braig dictated – simultaneously.

"Uh... I thought I heard Xehanort muttering something about... uh..." he scratched the back of his head as a nervous gesture and proceeded to clear his throat. He didn't want to continue with his explanation, but he couldn't leave something unsaid.

"Heard him muttering something 'bout what?" Braig asked in that same noncommittal tone-of-voice. Ienzo figured that, since both of his colleagues were not fully paying attention, it would be okay to divulge this information. After all, they would probably forget about it, anyway.

"Um... well, I thought I heard him say something about overthrowing Ansem or something. Uh... I think he's coming up with some sort of a plan."

"Overthrowing Ansem?" Braig asked unbelievingly, suddenly looking up from his microscope. He and Dilan looked at each other before bursting into laughter.

"That's ridiculous!" Dilan said rather loudly, causing Xehanort to look over at the three of them for a second. "None of us could do that; Ansem is too smart. Xehanort wouldn't be able to overthrow him even in his wildest of dreams."

"Yeah," Ienzo said, trying to sound like he agreed; "you guys are probably right. I probably just misunderstood."

"Of course you did. Now, Dilan, write this down..."

*****

That night, however, Ienzo was spying on Xehanort. He was outside of the man's bedroom door, and he had somehow managed to crack it open a bit without Xehanort knowing; he could hear perfectly what he was saying.

Apparently, he _was_ planning on taking over. This frightened Ienzo; one of his colleagues was going insane – driving himself into madness. He couldn't tell the others, though, because they wouldn't believe him; even Aeleus probably wouldn't believe him. He had to keep it to himself somehow. The thought made him want to explode in tears – the thought of keeping to himself something that could potentially harm the rest of them made him want to die. He didn't want to live with the pressure; he now felt as though a great burden the size of all the worlds put together had been placed upon his shoulders, and he couldn't take it. He would have to stop it.

Just then, Xehanort's footsteps could be heard coming toward the door. Ienzo heard this and immediately began to panic; his eyes widened in fear, and he could feel sweat, like shards of glass, slowly cutting his forehead. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide – and his feet seemed to be plastered to the floor, not letting him move. The footsteps got closer and closer, and Ienzo's heart began beating faster and faster until he thought it was about to explode. Finally, Xehanort walked out of his room only to find a terror-stricken Ienzo standing outside of it.

"How long have you been out here?!" Xehanort demanded.

"I... I..." Ienzo could not speak; terror had taken control of him. He was shaking, and tears started to fall from his eyes. He now knew what Xehanort's plans were; he knew _exactly_ what they were. He knew too much. Xehanort would have to kill him.

"ANSWER ME!" Xehanort yelled at the shivering boy.

"I know what your plans are!" Ienzo cried.

"You little –" Xehanort didn't even bother to finish his sentence; he yanked Ienzo to his feet and grabbed his wrist. He proceeded to drag the boy down to the lab where he would teach Ienzo his lesson. He would never eavesdrop on his plans ever again.

*****

Ienzo was struggling as hard as he could, but Xehanort overpowered him. With the aid of a C-clamp, Xehanort held Ienzo's jaw open while he poured the contents of a strychnine vile down the teenager's throat. After the entire vile was emptied, Xehanort removed the C-clamp from Ienzo's jaw and watched the effects with a face completely devoid of any sort of emotion.

Ienzo began coughing at first, then his vision became hazy. About ten minutes after having been given the toxin, the boy began to convulse ferociously, his head and neck being the first to undergo the painful torture. With the convulsions eventually spreading to every muscle in Ienzo's body, the boy began screaming for help, but it was to no avail; his colleagues, as well as Ansem, were sleeping in the complete other side of the building. Nobody was there to hear his blood-curdling screams of brutal pain – well, nobody except Xehanort.

The convulsions began progressing, and Ienzo's screams rose and rose in a crescendo of terror, but there was nothing that could be done; above the asphyxiating power of strychnine, no one can emerge. The frequency of the convulsions began increasing and increasing and increasing until they were in such rapid succession that there could be no hesitation between them, and it became so painful now that Ienzo could no longer even scream. His spine arched backwards continually until his forehead met his toes. Silent tears were streaking down his face, and a shining, glassy film was covering his eyes as his arms hyper-extended outwards and his fists clenched so tightly that it seemed as though his knuckle bones would break out from his skin.

His mouth suddenly clamped shut with a "crack" sound, and blood began trickling from the corner of his mouth where he'd bitten his tongue. His face fixed in a chilling grin, he began panting for breath as his windpipe began threatening to collapse.

Finally, with his eyes bulged out from their sockets and his face and arms a slight blue color, he broke out into a cold sweat and his body began to relax between the violent convulsions. When his small body could take the torture no longer, three of his vertebrae snapped in unison, the breathing pathways collapsed, and the boy asphyxiated. One could almost consider the death as a mercy.

Ienzo was dead, and Xehanort only looked on emotionlessly as the younger one's body went immediately into rigor mortis.

*****

It was the next morning when Aeleus woke up and went down to the lab that he saw his lover in a backwards arch on the floor. His face was still fixated in that horrendous grin and, though his eyes were wide and sunken into his head, they were open in a look of unspoken terror and pain known not to a single soul. Aeleus immediately fell to his knees beside Ienzo and began sobbing; he buried his face in the corpse's neck and allowed his salty tears to fall onto Ienzo's now extremely pale skin – victimized by pallor mortis.

He removed his face from Ienzo's cold neck and began to look around the room for a sign of what may have caused his young lover's death. It took a few minutes, but then he saw it; a vile of strychnine lying on one of the lab tables. At this, Aeleus grew infuriated. He knew that the one person in the lab who used strychnine in experiments was Xehanort.

Immediately, Aeleus grabbed a scalpel from one of the supply closets before kneeling down next to his lover yet again and kissing him gently. He promised that he would be back; he just had to "take care of something first."

*****

Aeleus stormed down all the hallways in the building in an attempt to find Xehanort; he was ready to kill him without mercy or a second thought. Xehanort had killed his lover, therefore Xehanort must die!

Finally, he saw him. Xehanort was comfortably sitting on a couch working on a formula of some sort. This only infuriated Aeleus more; Xehanort just committed a heinous murder, and he was taking it so lightly!

"Xehanort, you bastard!" Aeleus yelled storming to the couch and yanking Xehanort up by his wrist. Xehanort merely looked at him with an intrigued look as though he were expecting no less than this.

"Oh, I suppose you found him, then?" Xehanort asked. It maddened Aeleus that his colleague was handling this in such casual a manner.

"You're damn well right I found him!" Aeleus yelled. "You fucking sadist!"

"You just keep sweet talking me, Aeleus," Xehanort said darkly. "After all, what choice do you have? I'm going to replace Ansem, and I will be your Superior; you will have no other choice but to obey me. Your little boyfriend merely found out about my plans; he knew too much; I had to kill him."

"Yeah, well, you know what?!" Aeleus threatened, gripping the scalpel behind his back with a death grip.

"What, Aeleus?"

"I'LL JUST KILL YOU, THEN!"

With that, Aeleus whipped out the scalpel and held it dangerously close to Xehanort's throat. Xehanort then grabbed hold of Aeleus' wrist and began to attempt to move the scalpel away. However, Aeleus was much too powerful. "No bother trying," Aeleus spat. "It won't do you any good." With that, he slowly slit the scalpel half-way down Xehanort's neck. Crimson liquid began seeping out of his throat. "You see this?" Aeleus asked in a voice as rigid as Xehanort's was when he caught Ienzo outside his room. "You fucking _see_ this?!" Aeleus, with tears of rage leaking out of his eyes, was holding the blood-drenched scalpel right in front of Xehanort's eyes. "This," Aeleus explained, "is blood. This is _life._ _This_ is what you took away from Ienzo, damnit!" He took a few seconds to breathe. "And you see this life vanishing from this scalpel?" Aeleus asked as he used the cuff of his own lab coat to rub his colleague's blood off the scalpel. Xehanort didn't even nod; he couldn't do anything. It was as though he were frozen there. "_Your _life is gonna vanish from _you_, too!" And with those few, yet powerful, words, Aeleus stabbed the scalpel into Xehanort's neck and dragged it down his throat all the way to his collarbone.

Xehanort then fell limp to the floor and died approximately five minutes after. Aeleus merely scoffed and threw the scalpel down; it landed atop Xehanort's corpse. He then walked off in the direction of the lab – in the direction of his dead lover – fully prepared for what he was about to do.

*****

Upon reaching the lab, Aeleus searched for another vile of strychnine. Upon finding one, he opened his mouth and drained the vile of its contents. He wanted to die the same way his lover did; he thought it only fair.

After going through the same incomparable torture that Ienzo experienced, Aeleus went into rigor mortis within an hour, and the lab reeked of death, poison, and what was the beginning of eternal night.


	2. Part I

**A/N: **here's the first chapter of the story! I hope you guys enjoy it as much as you did the prologue!! ^.^

* * *

It had been quite a while since the tragedy at Radiant Garden happened. However, though so much had changed, so much had also remained the same. The seemingly unending phase of night into which the world had fallen continued to surround it completely. With no promising sign of dawn anywhere near, the powers of Darkness were able to have full control of Radiant Garden and its citizens; the small world was so tightly surrounded by Darkness that it was asphyxiating. Radiant Garden was henceforth labeled "condemned."

All the scientists in the lab had died, Ansem the Wise included, and all of the citizens began to fear for their lives. Without those brilliant minds to keep searching out ways to protect Radiant Garden from the evils of annihilation, there would be no hope for Good to prevail against Evil. Ansem was the last of the scientists to have died, and the people lived in fright after he did. That is, they lived until they, too, were massacred.

However, the citizens of Radiant Garden did not physically die; they were robbed of their hearts and souls. They became followers of the Heartless – ignorant, immoral, vile little creatures which thrived on the hearts of others. Once one became a Heartless, his only goal was to recruit others to join the havoc-wreaking group. Thus stated, one can live after being robbed of his heart and soul, but he is merely a machine afterward – a machine used to make clones of himself. The life of a Heartless is only a mere metaphor of the actuality of Death.

It wasn't only Radiant Garden that experienced the onslaught of the Heartless, though. There was a small world known as The World That Never Was which also knew of this. However, it was upon this world that Heartless were very seldom found, for in a corner of The World That Never Was stood the magnanimous Castle Oblivion – the fortress which was home to Organization XIII, a group the members of which even the Heartless greatly feared.

The Organization was comprised of the living counterparts of thirteen very strong members from the dead societies of other worlds – Radiant Garden included. The Organization was made up of a race known as "Nobodies" – people who would not even have existed if it weren't for other people having died. The Nobodies were corporeal remains of people who had lost their hearts and souls to the ominous powers of Darkness, and Organization XIII was comprised of the strongest of this race. The first six members of this elitist group were, indeed, the six lab assistants of the late Ansem – or, rather, their six counterparts.

A few minutes after Ienzo had died via strychnine poisoning in the world of Radiant Garden, Zexion was born into The World That Never Was; he was Ienzo's Nobody, Ienzo's counterpart. After that, Xemnas, the Nobody of Xehanort, came into The World That Never Was, and he was followed by Lexaeus, Xigbar, Xaldin, and Vexen – the Nobodies of Aeleus, Braig, Dilan, and Even, respectively. It was Xemnas' decision to create the Organization; he had said it would be best for them to "band together in the case of possible danger." Zexion, who still had Ienzo's death within his memory, initially refused to join Xemnas in this project; he was not about to "band together" with a person who had, technically, murdered him. To this, Xemnas merely replied that Zexion could do as he wished, but, if he were to die in this unknown world, then he (Xemnas) certainly would not feel at fault for it. Zexion, after hours of debating with himself, finally agreed to go along with the plan.

The newly formed "Organization," after living long without an actual roof above their heads, found an abandoned castle which Xemnas decided they would call "home." The place was extremely bland; everything was white. There were so many rooms and corridors that one could easily get lost within the fortress's stone walls. However, what other choice did they have?

It took quite a while to get acquainted with the castle, but once they finally got settled, it was almost as though they were back at Radiant Garden in Ansem's lab. Almost_._

"Lexaeus?" Zexion asked one day when he and Lexaeus were both in the library. Zexion was sitting rigidly on the couch, a book open in his lap, and Lexaeus was standing in front of the window, looking outside at the eternally dark sky.

"Yes?" Lexaeus replied solemnly, turning his head in Zexion's direction, raising an eyebrow. Zexion removed the book from his lap and placed it beside him before standing up from the couch. He walked over to Lexaeus and looked up at him through his one visible eye.

"D-do you… do you think that we could… well…" Zexion stuttered.

"Six," Lexaeus said emotionlessly as he turned to the window once more; "you know as well as I that we can no longer _feel_ anything – and that includes love. We're Nobodies; we don't even logically exist."

"I... I know that," Zexion tried to counterattack; "but... but do you think that m-maybe perhaps we... we could _pretend_ to... to lead the lives we once did?"

"Ienzo and Aeleus are dead," Lexaeus said coldly as he looked down at his subordinate. This made Zexion stop breathing for a moment. "And living in a dream never does any good; it only does harm. Living in reality is the only way that we can hope to survive. You would do best to realize that and _not_ waste yourself away on mere dreams and illusions that will never happen in actuality." These words, surprisingly, didn't sting. Was it true? Was it _really_ true that they were unable to feel?

"Hah," Zexion said, "I need not worry about 'wasting myself away,' Lexaeus."

"You will do nothing short of that if you wonder why we cannot be as Ienzo and Aeleus were."

"Oh, it's quite the contrary," Zexion retaliated in a melancholy voice. "I can wonder all I want. After all, one cannot die once already dead."

With that, Zexion walked swiftly over to the couch, picked up his book, and created a portal to his room. He wondered why salty tears refused to fall from his eyes and burn his skin, but then it occurred to him...

...he didn't know how to cry.

******

Through the years, the Organization had been admitting new members until they reached thirteen. Zexion didn't particularly know how to react to the new members of their group; he had taught himself – since the incident with Lexaeus had happened years before – that it would be impossible for him to ever love or be loved, and he finally came to terms with the fact that Nobodies could not have any sort of emotion. Thus stated, he usually spent most of his days locked up in his room studying nothing in particular or sitting in a corner of the library... well... studying nothing in particular. Either that, or he would think; he would think about what it would be like _to_ be able to love – and be loved in return. He had looked up "love" in the dictionary, and it sounded quite nice; he thought it would be lovely to have somebody care for him. But then he would walk about the castle and observe everybody else, and he decided that all hope was gone, if it ever existed to begin with. After all, the Organization was a group of elite immoralists who were ignorant in the face of emotion; they killed without a thought. Zexion decided that it would never be possible.

******

One afternoon, Xigbar had returned from a mission in which he had slain _many_ Heartless, and he was bragging about it to Marluxia.

"Ah, you shoulda seen it, dude!" Xigbar exclaimed, his eyes prideful. "There I was, amidst _loads_ of the little bastards, and–"

"Why is Number Six always so quiet?" Marluxia interrupted thoughtfully, a perplexed look on his face.

"Huh?" Xigbar asked, dumbstruck by Marluxia's question. After a few seconds, though, it sank in. "Well, that was random. Anyway, I don't know. Probably because he's so damn boring, and all he ever _does_ all the time is read."

"Hmm..." Marluxia murmured, thinking to himself.

"You look as though you're plotting something," Xigbar said in a suspicious voice, his eyes narrowing. "Should I fear for my life?"

"For one thing, you're not even technically 'alive,' you idiot," Marluxia retaliated. "You should know that better than I do. And, for another thing, no, I am not 'plotting,' as you put it. I'm just..."

"... plotting?" Xigbar suggested, an eyebrow raised.

"No. Thinking," Marluxia corrected. "Why would he always want to be alone? I wonder if he ever gets lonely..."

"Yo, why do you even _care_, Marly?" Xigbar asked, seriously wondering.

"Don't call me that," Marluxia growled in a warning tone. "And... I don't know."

"Uh-huh. Keep tellin' yourself that, pal," Xigbar said, smiling. He then chuckled and patted Marluxia on the shoulder before walking away.

******

Zexion was walking about the castle when, all of a sudden, he smelled flower blossoms. He stopped walking and became rigid as a steel pole as Marluxia's portal materialized and said man stepped out of the darkness. Zexion wanted to disappear; he did not like being around anyone and usually refrained from engaging in said action unless he was forced to – such as in Xemnas' annoying meetings.

"Hello," Marluxia said simply. Zexion merely nodded his head in response, showing that he acknowledged Marluxia's existence – or, rather, his technical _lack_ thereof. A period of silence ensued during which Zexion merely stared at his feet and Marluxia stared at Zexion.

"So," Marluxia said, breaking the less-than-symbolic moment of silence, "I notice that you spend quite a lot of time alone."

"You notice," Zexion repeated in a voice completely lacking of emotion.

"Yes," Marluxia stated, "I do. And I wish to know the reason why."

"Is it safe for me to infer that you are giving me an order?" Zexion asked, turning his attention from his feet to Marluxia and raising his visible eyebrow. "For, if that is what you are doing, I will not hesitate to remind you that I am, indeed, your superior, Number Eleven."

"For your information, I am neither 'ordering' you to do anything, _nor_ would I ever wish to challenge your position as one of the higher-ups of this Organization," Marluxia replied, amazingly keeping his composure. "I am simply wondering why you insist upon distancing yourself from everyone else."

"What I do is no business of yours, Number Eleven."

"Oh, do I detect a hint of fiery emotion in your tone of voice?" Marluxia asked a bit teasingly. Zexion, however, did not find this the least bit funny.

"You know as well as I do that we cannot feel anything," Zexion said. "Attempting to believe that we can only shows that you live within the realm of dreams, and living in dreams never does any good; it only does harm." Then, before summoning a portal to his room, Zexion looked directly into Marluxia's eyes as he added in a soft voice, "You would do best to realize that and not waste yourself away on such petty things as dreams and illusions."

"One cannot die once all ready dead!" Marluxia shouted after Zexion as the teenager's portal closed, leaving Marluxia alone in one of the castle's many white hallways. "Hah, how ironic," Marluxia thought, looking about him at all the whiteness. "White – the color of hope. Was Xemnas a damn masochist when he decided what color to paint these walls?"

And with that, he summoned a portal to his own room, red flower petals cascading to the white floor, painting the white canvas. Red – the color of blood. Red mixing with white; blood mixing with hope.


	3. Part II

**A/N: **hello, all! Thank you all so much for the reviews and the adds to favorite lists!!! It makes me very happy, indeed!! XDDD I hope you like this chapter, short as it is. It's only about two pages in MS Word. Sorry 'bout that... ^.^;;

In any case, I hope you continue to enjoy this.

Oh, right - just in case you haven't visited the profile lately, school's started back, and I may not be able to update as often. sorry... DX

xxx

* * *

"Zexion!" rang a voice. Said voice belonged to none other than Roxas, and it annoyed Zexion to no end. He only wished to be alone in the library; he only wanted to read without any interruptions. He almost wanted to cry when he realized that, thanks to Roxas, this wish of seclusion would not become a reality.

"What do you _want_, Number Thirteen?" Zexion asked, not even attempting to hide the obvious annoyance he felt.

"Why do you do that?" Roxas asked, suddenly forgetting his initial reason for disturbing the older boy.

"And what, dare I ask, do you mean by that inquiry, Number Thirteen?" Zexion asked as he delicately arched his only visible eyebrow before removing his reading glasses and placing them on the table in front of him. After placing the bookmark in his novel and setting it carefully on the table beside his glasses, he began to gently massage the sides of his head; a headache was forming.

"I mean," Roxas answered as he walked over to the couch and sat beside Zexion, "that I was wondering why you're always calling us by our... numbers... instead of our names."

"And exactly _how_ many times must I remind you of this?" Zexion asked, trying his best to control his rising temper. Roxas, however, only looked confused. "We are _Nobodies_, Number Thirteen. We are neither of the Living _nor_ of the Dead. We simply... are. We are like moss-covered stones stuck on the bottom of a stream. Life, like water, just passes over us, and we are not even effected by it. Why should we bother with names when we are not even really living or dead to begin with? Actually, when you think about it, why even bother with _numbers_? I suppose even 'beings' the likes of us deserve identification, but when all we do is kill in hopes of regaining our hearts... do we _truly_deserve anything at all?"

Surprisingly enough, Roxas did not lose interest in the older boy's explanation; he listened intently, so it seemed, and he thought it over before speaking again. When he did reply, it was not to mock Zexion – much to the illusionist's surprise. Instead, he retaliated with insight of his own.

"I read once," Roxas said thoughtfully, "about this one really weird world called earth. Anyway, it's in a different universe, and it's actually pretty interesting; the history of it is, anyway." Roxas paused here and looked over at his companion. He gave Zexion a questioning look as though he were asking permission to continue.

"Go ahead."

"Well," Roxas continued skeptically, "on one part of earth, there's this place called Europe, and… well… forever ago, something happened that was called the Holocaust. I read about it, and it was horrible…" Roxas' eyes seemed to glaze over. "There were these people called Nazis, and they killed so many people… They killed them without caring or even thinking. And the Nazis – they only called their victims by numbers, as well."

"What are you implying?"

"Are we to be compared to them?"

"No," Zexion answered after a moment of silent reflection. "I, too, have read up on that account. Unlike the Nazis, we _have_ a reason as to why we kill, and unlike the victims, we don't lose."

"... But they had a reason, too."

******

Later on, after dinner, Zexion had locked himself up in his room, and he was sitting forlornly upon his bed. Heaving a sigh, he turned his head toward the window and gazed into the night sky.

Allowing his mind to travel, Zexion thought back to his conversation with Roxas. Although very much different from the Nazis, the Nobodies _were_ alike in that they, too, killed without a second thought. Zexion sighed and continued to stare out the window.

Xemnas had been telling them for a long time that their ultimate goal is to regain their hearts. However, no matter how many missions Zexion completed, he never felt any closer to having a heart; kill and kill though he would, it never made him feel closer to his goal.

With that thought in mind, he remembered the time he had looked up the word "love" in his dictionary. Then, he decided how he could use his powers over illusion to his own advantage. The very back part of his mind knew that he would only be hurting himself, but the forefront of his mind took reign by telling him that in the absence of actual love, illusion is always there to fill the role.

A few minutes later, the smell of fresh flower blossoms filled the air in the room, interrupting Zexion from his thoughts.

...Or was it an illusion?


	4. Part III

**A/N: **hello! I'm sorry this took so long for me to submit! blame school and other stuff. DDX In any case... here's part III!! It's a bit short.... sorry 'bout that. ^.^;; *sweatdrop* however, I hope you lot like it, anyway. feel free to review! *hint hint* XDDD

* * *

Every person has his moments when his mind wanders off and contemplates how life _could be_ rather than how it _actually is_. Everyone has certain times when they venture into their own worlds and forget, or simply refuse, to live within Reality. However, Zexion did not merely spend minutes or hours within an illusory reality; he created a replica of Idealism and began to live within it. Of course, he returned to Reality when had to, such as to take part in Organization meetings or to work in the laboratory. The majority of the time, though, Zexion spent his time living in dreams. Even while on missions, the illusionist was half-way into the realm of Surrealism.

Living two lives would seem hard, but for Zexion, who was not able to know of love in Reality, leading a "double life" was not as hard as one would think. He learned that in illusion, he could experience what Reality would forever refuse him. Within this life of dreams and illusions, Zexion was taught perhaps the most important lesson he would ever learn – to love and to be loved in return.

"With all the complexities that you are able to understand, it is a grand wonder that you do not know the most important lesson of life; it's really quite simple," so explained the illusion of Marluxia as he pulled Zexion into his lap and held him close.

"And what would that simplistic 'lesson of life' be?" Zexion asked, melting into his illusion's arms.

"To love," came the whispered reply, "and to be loved in return." As the Marluxia illusion planted kisses all over the young intellectual's face, Zexion was, without knowing it, slipping away from Reality's hold.

One would have to ask if it is a possibility to love an illusion but, when Reality does not offer the ability to love, could there not be the slightest change that the realm of the Surreal would hold such power? Indeed, Zexion believed that there was plenty of room for reasonable doubt.

*****

As the young illusionist's plunge into Surrealism drew deeper, it became harder and harder for him to distinguish reality from fiction. Perhaps living "two lives" really _was_ harder than he thought; perhaps he was descending a stairwell which ended in his own psychological downfall. And perhaps he didn't realize it.

One quite obvious thing, though, was the unmistakable look of pain in Zexion's eyes when he was not caught up within his world of dreams. When faced with the blisteringly cold facts of Reality, Zexion tried his absolute hardest to keep up his apathetic, indifferent front and, to the average Nobody, Zexion was seen as neither more nor less than what his demeanor suggested. Though, certain others were able to see beyond the surface and into the deeper levels of the illusionist's psyche.

Number Eleven was one of the few who could tell that his younger superior was, indeed, slowly psychologically deteriorating. He had no idea why, though. Why would someone so adamant against the idea of having emotions be so showing of them? After all, one would only have to look into Zexion's one visible eye to see that, in his case, apathy is only skin deep. Marluxia was determined to silence Zexion's inner cries.

As for the illusionist himself, he died a little each time he saw Marluxia – the _real_ Marluxia – and knew that they would never be together except in illusion. Zexion wanted so badly to make fiction real; he wanted Surrealism and Reality to blend into one, and he wanted it to happen before the sun would set upon his life... again.

*****


	5. Part IV

**A/N: **Here's part IV! Sorry for the long wait. I hope you like the chapter. I'm trying, I swear. ^.^;;

* * *

Gradually, Zexion began to lose concept of time. Days and nights, weeks and months... they all seemed to melt together so no distinction could be made. He became so obsessed with his illusory life that he merely passed through Reality like a ghost through trees. In meetings, he would only pretend to pay attention to Xemnas' speeches. In the laboratory, he would mechanically go through his work, his mind elsewhere.

He would spend the majority of his days like this – merely floating through Reality without being truly knowledgeable of it. However, when he was locked in his room at night, he felt as though he were truly alive. It was then that he could escape into his world of dreams.

The familiar illusory scent of flower blossoms filled Zexion's room once again as the illusion of Marluxia materialized. Zexion could feel himself growing further and further apart from Reality, but he was also far from caring. Reality was his enemy; Reality kept him from experiencing love. Illusion, though, allowed Zexion to experience everything; Illusion was his haven – his oasis – from the cruelties that Reality harbored.

The illusion of Marluxia glided over to Zexion and wrapped the younger intellectual within his arms. Zexion melted into the embrace and began purring as he allowed his eyes to close. "Marluxia" began to soothingly murmur into Zexion's ear, and the younger of the two allowed himself to be bathed in the sound of the illusion's voice.

Zexion felt as though he were listening to the grandest orchestra playing the most beautiful symphony ever written. Being held and kissed and... _loved_ was the near equivalent of being in the center of a sun-drenched flower field, the golden sun bathing him in warmth.

However, it always seemed as though their passion play would hit its extreme at the same time that Zexion's mind would crash back to Reality's cold, harsh truth.  
"Zexion," the illusion murmured as he gently trailed his fingers down the young illusionist's cheeks, tracing the lines of his tears. "What is the matter?" the illusion's voice was saturated with affection.

"It... this..." Zexion tried not to let his voice break. He continued in a whisper. "This... all of it... is just an illusion..."

"I can promise you that it is not," the illusory Marluxia replied. "All of this is a product of your mind, my love." He continued by whispering the rest of his explanation into Zexion's ear. "And your mind is _real_..."

This was all it took for Zexion's eyes to flutter shut again and for his worries to escape him. The illusory Marluxia kissed Zexion's ear before pressing his lips to the young intellectual's. Basking in this warm, illusive, surreal love, Zexion was able to think of nothing else. His mind was unable to comprehend that, maybe, in the upper levels of the Castle, there was a certain person thinking of him...

*****

Marluxia was sitting on a couch in the Castle's library, a translated copy of Dante's _Monarchia_ open upon his lap. He, however, was not reading; he was staring at the wall across from him, almost in a dreamlike state. He sighed as he continued his thoughts about the mysterious, young superior of his.

He wondered why Zexion was always spending so much time alone. He wondered what the illusionist _did_ while he kept himself locked up in his room. He also wondered why the younger intellectual always shied away when approached by Marluxia. And why did Zexion randomly turn to incoherency when speaking at meetings? It's as though he... is never completely there.

Marluxia knitted his eyebrows together in determination. He _would_ find out the reason behind all of this. Nothing ever permanently stayed from him.

_Nothing._


	6. Part V

**A/N: **I realize that this is a horrible, very sucky ending to this fic. It's short, and it's a bit of a deus ex machina. I should've made the entire fic longer and had a better ending, but... I don't know. I am currently having problems translating Latin homework (problems that I've never had before), and it's leading to a feeling of self-worthlessness. I feel highly inept, which is probably a very _bad_ thing, considering I'm majoring in Latin... *sigh* It gets worse, too. I'm actually not having much trouble in French, yet I seem to be having issues with Latin. The whole situation's absolutely deplorable because I'm not majoring in French (quite the contrary - I'm not doing _anything_ with French; I'm just taking a third language for the hell of it), yet I'm doing fine with it. But the language I'm actually going to do something with, I end up having issues with! Damnit. This is not cool. DX

... Very sorry for that. Anyway, it has led to my feeling inept, and therefore a feeling of depression. Therefore, I present this to you. I apologize greatly; I really do. I'm not happy with this chapter, either. I understand if any/all reviews are negative.

Perhaps, though, a few of you will find it somewhat enjoyable. *has a glimmer of hope*

x-posted to my (long dead) deviantArt account.

* * *

Marluxia and Zexion happened to be walking along the same corridor one evening when Marluxia noticed, for the first time, that the Organization's skilled tactician was on his way to madness. Zexion's eyes were blank and glazed over, and his posture was no longer perfect. He seemed emaciated, and his skin now resembled that of a corpse. His hair was disheveled, and Marluxia decided that this view of the Cloaked Schemer was as close a view of a walking corpse that he would ever get.

Zexion felt empty – as any creature of the Heartless _should_ be. That is, if Emptiness can be categorized as a legitimate emotion in the first place. Zexion, brilliant though he was, could not figure out this puzzle.

*****

Several weeks later, Zexion had decided that he was tired of living in nothing but his mind; he wanted something real – something tangible – that he could know, for sure, existed. He wanted to feel something in Reality. And he knew just how to accomplish that.

After having driven himself to rock bottom, Zexion took the precious piece of steel and made his way into the bathroom. After sinking to the floor, he rolled up the left sleeve of his cloak and allowed the silver instrument to bite at his parchment-like skin. Seeing the ribbons of crimson horror appear upon his flesh caused him to smile cryptically. He allowed Justice's tool to drop to the bathroom's stone floor, landing with the sound of metal-upon-marble. He then took his right index finger and dabbed a bit of his own blood upon it before looking down at it; he had found his source of tangibility.

Allowing his head to loll back against the wall, Zexion began laughing softly, the slightest hint of insanity present in his laughter. Crystal-like tears began rolling down his face as an image of Marluxia appeared in his mind. As he kept imagining, the crimson ribbons draining down his left arm began dripping onto the pure, white floor, staining it.

His cryptic smile only grew as he thought to himself, _Such a beautiful dance is the result of Reality's and Illusion's passion-play._

He never let go of his illusory Marluxia, and he consequently never knew that somewhere in the Castle, someone – someone _real_ – was wishing that he would.


End file.
